Cheap Love
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
October 6, 2019
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
A woman gets a new job with a company that gives her several weeks of paid maternity leave. Later, talking to a friend about it, she describes feeling, “privileged.”
The parents of a seriously ill child start a GoFundMe page and within weeks raise nearly half of the child’s medical costs. The story is picked up and featured on the evening news where it is uniformly and joyfully hailed as “inspiring.”
At a town hall taxpayer funded subsidies are finalized to help lure and keep a new plant from a more desperate town, at least for a while. Once the deal is made, elected leaders tout the opening of the new plant an “innovative” partnership between the public and private sector and a boon for the local economy.
We hear or see stories like these with some regularity in the United States.
And almost without exception they are presented as positive stories.
Stories that are supposed to make us feel good.
Stories to warm our hearts.
Stories to instill a sense of gratitude.
Now, maybe I’m an outlier here, but when I hear that an employee of a company, like a new parent, say they feel “privileged” to be offered paid maternity leave, I don’t feel good.
I feel angry.
When parents or anyone else, for that matter, turn to crowdfunding to raise money to cover medical costs, it doesn’t warm my heart.
It breaks it.
And when plant openings are conditioned upon receiving taxpayer subsidies, I do not swell with gratitude.
But rather, with disgust.
Whereas we’re sold these stories as examples of generosity, I see them as examples of cheap love.
For decades American society has grown to love all things cheap. Today, we seem no longer interested in pursuing things of value as much as valuing getting things cheap.
When I appraised art and antiques for a living, I used to get a call with some frequency from a man who’d spend his weekends combing flea-markets for undiscovered treasure. This guy had no real base of knowledge or specialty in any particular area of antiques or art and never spent much money on any one thing. He’d go to flea-markets on a Saturday or Sunday and then call me or send me pictures on Monday of things he bought, certain that they were undiscovered treasures. They weren’t. He stopped calling me once I told him I was going to have to start charging him for my time looking at and providing my professional opinion on his purchases.
I don’t know how much he ultimately spent trying to get a treasure on the cheap, but I’m certain had his focus had been on seeking something of value rather than valuing getting something cheap, he might have found the treasure that eluded him.
Now playing this sort of game with art and antiques and a few extra bucks is one thing, but what about love?
I have lived my entire life hearing politicians, preachers and policymakers proclaim their love of family and children and the obligation of society to promote and protect them. Only to pass laws, promote a singular definition of family and pursue policies that enrich or advantage some while sowing or exacerbating economic hardship, division, and injustice for many others, including, families and children.
After all, what kind of love inspires laws that grant unpaid leave to care for a child in an age when so many live paycheck to paycheck?
Cheap love.
What kind of love forces families into financial ruin or to beg friends and strangers on social media to pay for medical treatment?
Cheap love.
And what kind of love re-distributes money raised for the public good to already overstuffed private coffers for a new plant while roads and schools crumble and programs for the most vulnerable are cut?
Cheap love.
Indeed, what kind of love conditions a society on the one hand to rail against almost any tax, for example, but accept as normal having our bodies, minds, and spirits taxed to premature death and disease with things like longer hours, less benefits, less job/income and retirement security, less healthcare, and more worry?
Cheap love.
The irony, of course, is that cheap love is neither cheap, nor love at all.
This is the often missed point of our second reading, popularly known as “The widow’s offering.”
If you’ve heard or were familiar with the story before today, you’ve likely heard it offered as an example of sacrificial giving. And that the teaching Jesus seeks to instill is that such giving, though it may hurt us now, ultimately pleases God.
There’s only one problem with this understanding.
Jesus doesn’t say that.
All he says is, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
That’s it.
Nothing about sacrificial giving
Not a word about pleasing God.
And notice, Jesus doesn’t praise the widow’s gift. Nor does he instruct his followers to “go and do likewise.” Indeed, rather than a teaching, Jesus, having parked himself opposite the treasury as people put money into it, seems to simply offer an observation.
One can almost hear a sigh or sense of resignation in his words, as if he realizes he’s got his work cut for him in bringing people to new life, to a new way of living and being in the world.
The case for this being a poignant moment of observation rather than a teaching on giving can be made by looking at what immediately precedes it. Just before stopping to sit across from the treasury, the gospel writer records Jesus leveling “woes against the Pharisees” in which he says, “Beware of the scribes, who like to go in long robes, and to have salutations in the market places and the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts.…who devour widow’s houses and for a pretense make long prayers.”
Here is also important to pay attention to what Jesus is saying and not saying. Notice he doesn’t name specific individuals. His concern is not a few “bad apples.” He’s talking about a system, the way a society operates and accepts as normal, and perhaps even as the only way. A society structured and legitimized in such a way that it convinces even a poor widow to give away all she has to help maintain that system. For the Pharisees, that is, the powerful, cheap love is self-serving. For others, particularly the most vulnerable, widows, for example, it devours what little they have.
So, today, while Jesus might not call out people by name he might ask what kind of love justifies a society where billionaire directed philanthropy is cheered to address conditions resulting from income or resource inequality? And the answer would be….
Cheap love.
Of course the point of Jesus’ whole ministry was that there is another way, something he calls, “The Kingdom of God”. But, there’s a catch. To enter it you have to die first and then be reborn. The good news is we’re not talking about literally dying or being physically resurrected - and neither was Jesus, by the way.
This kingdom that he describes is not like the world as we know it. As the writer Thomas Moore points out in his book, “Writing in the Sand”, “The kingdom [his is] talking about is empty. “Empty” here doesn’t mean worthless; it means not fully visible and concrete, like a church or a belief system. It is more an attitude toward life than a religious institution, more a quality of mind than a formal church.”
Death and rebirth here refers to “metanoia”, a Greek word usually translated into English as repentance in the Christian scriptures, but which literally means to change or go beyond your mind or in more expansive terms, to be transformed. In other words, it suggests a radical shift in vision. Thus, Thomas Moore writes, “When you find yourself in the kingdom, you will be in a different world, though at the factual level everything will be the same. The kingdom is translucent and empty. You don’t see it in itself, but you see the world altered by it. Where one person sees competition and acts aggressively, you see community and act with compassion.”
We step toward and into the Kingdom or new way of living and being then when we shift or turn from our habitual way or seeing and doing things.
A related point is made in our responsive reading, “On Turning”, which reminds us, “Now is the time for turning” and that, “Unless we turn, we will be trapped forever in yesterday’s ways.” The reading reflects the spirit and observance of the Jewish High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur. A crucial part of which is the practice of teshuvah. While teshuvah is generally translated as repentance, scholars note a better or more accurate translation is “return” as in to return to God or to an original or whole state. At the risk of oversimplifying this noble tradition, one might describe it as an annual call to reset or restore ourselves to right relations with ourselves, others, and the very source of life itself.
Although different in myriad ways, the Christian and Jewish traditions both recognize that absent some sustained commitment on our part, humanity will not live into its full potential and may in fact destroy itself, if not all other life in the process. Unitarian Universalism emerged from the Judeo-Christian tradition and significant aspects of both Judaism and Christianity remain vital to our spiritual practice and growth, not the least of which is the exploration and practice of ways to restore and fulfill our humanity and in so doing, embrace, in the words of Wendell Berry, our “privilege to live under the laws of justice and mercy.”
If nothing else, take from today’s service this question,
“How am I exercising my privilege to live under the laws of justice and mercy?”
Cheap love is not cheap. It is costing us our very humanity. Now is the to go beyond the mind you have. It is the time for turning. Turning away from cheap love. May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
October 6, 2019
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
A woman gets a new job with a company that gives her several weeks of paid maternity leave. Later, talking to a friend about it, she describes feeling, “privileged.”
The parents of a seriously ill child start a GoFundMe page and within weeks raise nearly half of the child’s medical costs. The story is picked up and featured on the evening news where it is uniformly and joyfully hailed as “inspiring.”
At a town hall taxpayer funded subsidies are finalized to help lure and keep a new plant from a more desperate town, at least for a while. Once the deal is made, elected leaders tout the opening of the new plant an “innovative” partnership between the public and private sector and a boon for the local economy.
We hear or see stories like these with some regularity in the United States.
And almost without exception they are presented as positive stories.
Stories that are supposed to make us feel good.
Stories to warm our hearts.
Stories to instill a sense of gratitude.
Now, maybe I’m an outlier here, but when I hear that an employee of a company, like a new parent, say they feel “privileged” to be offered paid maternity leave, I don’t feel good.
I feel angry.
When parents or anyone else, for that matter, turn to crowdfunding to raise money to cover medical costs, it doesn’t warm my heart.
It breaks it.
And when plant openings are conditioned upon receiving taxpayer subsidies, I do not swell with gratitude.
But rather, with disgust.
Whereas we’re sold these stories as examples of generosity, I see them as examples of cheap love.
For decades American society has grown to love all things cheap. Today, we seem no longer interested in pursuing things of value as much as valuing getting things cheap.
When I appraised art and antiques for a living, I used to get a call with some frequency from a man who’d spend his weekends combing flea-markets for undiscovered treasure. This guy had no real base of knowledge or specialty in any particular area of antiques or art and never spent much money on any one thing. He’d go to flea-markets on a Saturday or Sunday and then call me or send me pictures on Monday of things he bought, certain that they were undiscovered treasures. They weren’t. He stopped calling me once I told him I was going to have to start charging him for my time looking at and providing my professional opinion on his purchases.
I don’t know how much he ultimately spent trying to get a treasure on the cheap, but I’m certain had his focus had been on seeking something of value rather than valuing getting something cheap, he might have found the treasure that eluded him.
Now playing this sort of game with art and antiques and a few extra bucks is one thing, but what about love?
I have lived my entire life hearing politicians, preachers and policymakers proclaim their love of family and children and the obligation of society to promote and protect them. Only to pass laws, promote a singular definition of family and pursue policies that enrich or advantage some while sowing or exacerbating economic hardship, division, and injustice for many others, including, families and children.
After all, what kind of love inspires laws that grant unpaid leave to care for a child in an age when so many live paycheck to paycheck?
Cheap love.
What kind of love forces families into financial ruin or to beg friends and strangers on social media to pay for medical treatment?
Cheap love.
And what kind of love re-distributes money raised for the public good to already overstuffed private coffers for a new plant while roads and schools crumble and programs for the most vulnerable are cut?
Cheap love.
Indeed, what kind of love conditions a society on the one hand to rail against almost any tax, for example, but accept as normal having our bodies, minds, and spirits taxed to premature death and disease with things like longer hours, less benefits, less job/income and retirement security, less healthcare, and more worry?
Cheap love.
The irony, of course, is that cheap love is neither cheap, nor love at all.
This is the often missed point of our second reading, popularly known as “The widow’s offering.”
If you’ve heard or were familiar with the story before today, you’ve likely heard it offered as an example of sacrificial giving. And that the teaching Jesus seeks to instill is that such giving, though it may hurt us now, ultimately pleases God.
There’s only one problem with this understanding.
Jesus doesn’t say that.
All he says is, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
That’s it.
Nothing about sacrificial giving
Not a word about pleasing God.
And notice, Jesus doesn’t praise the widow’s gift. Nor does he instruct his followers to “go and do likewise.” Indeed, rather than a teaching, Jesus, having parked himself opposite the treasury as people put money into it, seems to simply offer an observation.
One can almost hear a sigh or sense of resignation in his words, as if he realizes he’s got his work cut for him in bringing people to new life, to a new way of living and being in the world.
The case for this being a poignant moment of observation rather than a teaching on giving can be made by looking at what immediately precedes it. Just before stopping to sit across from the treasury, the gospel writer records Jesus leveling “woes against the Pharisees” in which he says, “Beware of the scribes, who like to go in long robes, and to have salutations in the market places and the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts.…who devour widow’s houses and for a pretense make long prayers.”
Here is also important to pay attention to what Jesus is saying and not saying. Notice he doesn’t name specific individuals. His concern is not a few “bad apples.” He’s talking about a system, the way a society operates and accepts as normal, and perhaps even as the only way. A society structured and legitimized in such a way that it convinces even a poor widow to give away all she has to help maintain that system. For the Pharisees, that is, the powerful, cheap love is self-serving. For others, particularly the most vulnerable, widows, for example, it devours what little they have.
So, today, while Jesus might not call out people by name he might ask what kind of love justifies a society where billionaire directed philanthropy is cheered to address conditions resulting from income or resource inequality? And the answer would be….
Cheap love.
Of course the point of Jesus’ whole ministry was that there is another way, something he calls, “The Kingdom of God”. But, there’s a catch. To enter it you have to die first and then be reborn. The good news is we’re not talking about literally dying or being physically resurrected - and neither was Jesus, by the way.
This kingdom that he describes is not like the world as we know it. As the writer Thomas Moore points out in his book, “Writing in the Sand”, “The kingdom [his is] talking about is empty. “Empty” here doesn’t mean worthless; it means not fully visible and concrete, like a church or a belief system. It is more an attitude toward life than a religious institution, more a quality of mind than a formal church.”
Death and rebirth here refers to “metanoia”, a Greek word usually translated into English as repentance in the Christian scriptures, but which literally means to change or go beyond your mind or in more expansive terms, to be transformed. In other words, it suggests a radical shift in vision. Thus, Thomas Moore writes, “When you find yourself in the kingdom, you will be in a different world, though at the factual level everything will be the same. The kingdom is translucent and empty. You don’t see it in itself, but you see the world altered by it. Where one person sees competition and acts aggressively, you see community and act with compassion.”
We step toward and into the Kingdom or new way of living and being then when we shift or turn from our habitual way or seeing and doing things.
A related point is made in our responsive reading, “On Turning”, which reminds us, “Now is the time for turning” and that, “Unless we turn, we will be trapped forever in yesterday’s ways.” The reading reflects the spirit and observance of the Jewish High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur. A crucial part of which is the practice of teshuvah. While teshuvah is generally translated as repentance, scholars note a better or more accurate translation is “return” as in to return to God or to an original or whole state. At the risk of oversimplifying this noble tradition, one might describe it as an annual call to reset or restore ourselves to right relations with ourselves, others, and the very source of life itself.
Although different in myriad ways, the Christian and Jewish traditions both recognize that absent some sustained commitment on our part, humanity will not live into its full potential and may in fact destroy itself, if not all other life in the process. Unitarian Universalism emerged from the Judeo-Christian tradition and significant aspects of both Judaism and Christianity remain vital to our spiritual practice and growth, not the least of which is the exploration and practice of ways to restore and fulfill our humanity and in so doing, embrace, in the words of Wendell Berry, our “privilege to live under the laws of justice and mercy.”
If nothing else, take from today’s service this question,
“How am I exercising my privilege to live under the laws of justice and mercy?”
Cheap love is not cheap. It is costing us our very humanity. Now is the to go beyond the mind you have. It is the time for turning. Turning away from cheap love. May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
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